


Like Fire

by demonvampire180



Series: Like Fire [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Flash Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 22:46:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12640851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonvampire180/pseuds/demonvampire180
Summary: He's stuck, burning up, being consumed, but how is he supposed to escape?





	Like Fire

I could feel the heat of his body pressed against me. It was a heat that had grown familiar over the last five or six years – a heat that I had just accepted as an extension of my own self. Yet... It felt like it was trying to overwhelm me, and trying to overtake me, consuming me until I was no longer my own self. I don't think that's what I want but I'm not even sure at this point.

Slowly I sit up in bed, unwrapping his thick, muscled, forearm from around my waist and letting it drop down in my place. The thin, worn, blue grey sheets pool in my lap as I force a hand through my knotted brown, hair. It's grown too long, reaching inches past my shoulders, and framing my face in long, thin, strands. I've thought about getting it trimmed, but he always tells me how much he loves it. I hate doing things that make him unhappy. Just like when I reach to the bed stand and quietly pull open the drawer to grab a cigarette that no long exists. I don't know how long ago it was that he told me he hates it, but it's been long enough that I've forgotten what nicotine and lung cancer taste like. I slide the door shut and inhale deeply, longing for the burn in my throat and the slight mental haze of the exhale. Nothing felt nearly as satisfying.

I scratch my head and run my fingers through my hair once more, almost as a nervous tick. The clock reads 1:45 AM, red light taunting me like a bad dream. That would explain the silence outside our bedroom window, ten floors up from ground level. Even with the windows pushed wide open there's no ambient noise of far off traffic or the occasional blaring of sirens. This neighbourhood is unsettling in its quiet. Grumbling I get to my feet and go to stand at the windows, pushing aside the useless, sheer, white curtains so that I can lean against the frame. A cigarette would be so nice right now.

For awhile, I'm not counting the seconds, I simply gaze off into the night, watching the town sleep. The next closest building is miles away, looking like a pinprick image from a plane thousands of feet in the air. I only come to when I hear him shifting in the bed, our bed, turning from his left side to his right. The crumpled sheets leave his back exposed and I'm mesmerized by the visibly taut muscles underneath his white tank top. You can see every single groove and dip in his back. His shoulders, even when not flexing, were clearly visible and the line down the center of his back stood out like a beacon. He was so strong and yet... Maybe that was why I was being consumed.

I'm really craving that cigarette.

After more time passes, the clock reads something like 2:53 AM, I've had it. I go to our shared closet and throw open the white double doors, and without turning on the light pick out the first thing I can find and throw it on. Despite the near freezing temperature outside my skin feels like it's on fire so it's a simple cotton t-shirt with my black sweatpants. A few more items are thrown into a small rolling luggage we've only used once before I'm out the door.

My cellphone. My keys. The love of my life. I leave them all behind as I take the elevator down, hoping upon hope that I never have the chance to go back.

 


End file.
